Addiction
by Millie
Summary: Miranda has a problem; will an annoying roommate help her? *drug use* Rachel Getting Married/DWP crossover
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Mom?"

Small hands shook the sleeping form in the messy sea of Egyptian cotton. The only visible sign of a human was unkempt silver hair nestled between two caramel colored pillows. A pair of roaming hands shook the disheveled body beneath the blankets, trying their hardest to wake the seemingly sleeping person.

"Mom!" Frantic screams began escaping the young girl's mouth as she shook harder. "Cassidy! Come here!" She shook even harder, begging her mother to wake up, to turn over and face her.

An identical girl appeared at the doorway, panic etched in her youthful features. From her spot at the doorway she could see her mother's figure lying lifeless atop her king-sized bed. She rushed to her mother's side, her feet colliding with an empty wine bottle, her hands knocking over orange pill bottles as she reached to grab at her mother.

The girls collectively pushed the older woman over, Caroline slapping her mother's face, frantically trying to make her open her eyes. She wanted to see the icy-blue of her mother's eyes...but as she shook the woman, her eyes remained firmly closed and her body unresponsive.

"Mom!" Caroline cried, "Call 911!" She frantically screamed at her sister, still actively trying to shake the life back into her mother.

~*~

Blue eyes flashed open for a mere moment.

Lights infiltrated blurry vision.

_Where the fuck am I_?

The words were meant to be asked, to be yelled, but the only thing an Emergency worker heard was a mumbled groan.

"She's awake!" He exclaimed.

Darkness descended once again.

~*~

"I need stats!" A male voice infiltrated a hazy moment of a half-asleep, half-awake like state.

She tried to swallow, but an uncomfortable foreign object was blocking her throat, blocking her from breathing. She felt panicky, uneasy, uncomfortable. Her stomach hurt, her throat hurt, her neck hurt, her head hurt. The lights were so damn bright.

"She's awake, we need some anesthetic."

She moaned, trying to tell them to back off, to get the fuck away, and get this tube out of her throat, but she couldn't articulate or form words. And in a second she was out again.

~*~

"Ms. Priestly?" A soft female voice cut through her serene state of waking from a dream. Miranda extended a foot out, stretching her sore body...sore in more than one spot. She opened her mouth to speak, but found her throat was completely raw, dry. She swallowed and winced at the pain. Her eyes flashed open and she, for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, truly saw and registered her surroundings.

"A hospital?" Her voice was raspy, uncomfortable.

"Yes, Ms. Priestly. You're in a hospital."

"No," Miranda swallowed painfully. "I am not...get me Emily." Miranda ordered, swallowing uneasily again.

"Emily? Is that your daughter?" The nurse looked nonplussed.

Miranda glared. "Where is the doctor?" She barked, though her voice was barely above a whisper.

"He will be in shortly." The nurse exclaimed with a smile and Miranda was tempted to smack her. But the instance she moved to push herself up, she felt a pain race through her entire body, her head was pounding. She slowly fell back against the bed and closed her eyes. This was _not_ happening.

"Well, well, well. Ms. Priestly. You're awake." A cocky male voice sounded in the room and her chilly-blue eyes shot open, zooming in on a black-haired young man, complete with clipboard in hand and a stethoscope around his neck. He clicked open a pen and began writing, taking in different vitals. Miranda's eyes formed into two slits; she hated this man. He completely ignored her angered look, and moved to the other side of the bed to write down something from that side. "You're lucky you're awake, you know that?" He finally looked down at her, and she could see a faint smile playing at the corner of his arrogant lips.

She hated him even more. "What..." She tried to sit up, but found she couldn't. "What are you talking about?" She asked, attempting to sound bored.

"It looks like you had quite a night last night. Triazolam with...hmm, let me guess...Syrah?" He was acting the superior male in every way, his holier-than-thou attitude was completely putting Miranda off and she wished she could fall back asleep and wake up again and put this behind her, for it had to all be a bad dream. Miranda did not have a drug problem, or an alcohol problem.

"How overly perceptive of you. Now can I go home?" Miranda attempted, wanting nothing more than to return to her bed, to her life, to _Runway_.

The doctor gave her another knowing look. "A psychologist will be in to talk with you shortly and once we make sure your stomach is completely empty of all the toxins, you'll be transported to a rehab center."

"A what?!" Miranda screamed, but her voice broke. "No, no way. I am _not_ a drug addict. I do not have a problem." She turned on the man, "DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?" She cried, "I have a magazine to run. I do not have time for rehab...or the need either."

The doctor just nodded, a smug look on his face. Miranda really wished she didn't feel so completely out of it, or else she would knock him a new one.

"Kathy will be in shortly." He smiled and ducked out of the room.

Miranda, enraged, bunched the sheets up into her hands and squeezed as hard as she could.

"FUCK."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The long drive to Connecticut was uncomfortable. Miranda had spent the entire two hour trip working like crazy on her blackberry, unable to believe it would be taken from her upon her arrival. She had so much to do and not any time to do it in. She had had to fight Irv to keep her position, fight him harder than she ever had. This was no good at all. How had she done this? And it was the worst timing of all. Only a month from Paris Fashion Week and she had to go and overdose.

Wonderful.

How had she become so pathetic? Sure one too many drinks here and there, but that just helped to get her through the long dinner parties and functions. Sleeping pills? Well her doctor had been concerned about her lack of sleep...she hadn't meant to start abusing them, but they had been helping.

She didn't have a problem. This whole rehab thing was unnecessary.

If anything, Miranda Priestly was pissed off.

As her driver drove to her unwanted destination, she quickly exchanged messages with Nigel, who would be stepping up for the twenty-eight days required of her at rehab. She was less than thrilled that he would be in charge of the February issue, one of the bigger magazines of the year.

She was not sure at all that he would keep the magazine up to her impeccable standards, but it would have to do. She had no other choice. Irv was giving her a month off, and he'd warned her...this little "drug" stunt did not make _Runway_ or her look good and thus she had to go through with rehab so that when she came out she could feign a new beginning, fake to the public a better Miranda Priestly. She knew this, but as much as she hated it, there was little she could do to reverse her suddenly soiled image.

After sending a quick text to both of her daughter's - who were now staying with their father, and who had both refused to see their mother at the hospital - the car pulled into the front entrance of the Connecticut Rehab center.

Her driver stepped out of the car, and Miranda allowed herself a moment to take in her dismal surroundings. The place looked like an institution. Its boring white colored buildings looked completely uninviting and she knew, immediately, that the place was below her standards and she was not at all happy about this fact.

Taking a deep breath, she braced herself to exit the safety of her car, the safety of her last moments of freedom. Slipping her Versace sunglasses over her eyes, she slid eloquently out of the car.

No one seemed to notice or care that THE Miranda Priestly had just arrived at rehab. A nurse came to meet her, greeting her with a kind smile and an extended hand, but Miranda refused to shake or acknowledge the woman. A whole group of what looked like specialists were there to greet her, and she stared blankly at all of them. Once inside, she pulled her sunglasses off of her eyes and narrowed her blues at all of the waiting people. She made no move to speak, but calmly followed their instructions.

All of her Louis Vuitton suitcases were searched along with her Prada purse. The next part was the most humiliating. She was asked to take off her coat and then the nurse who had so kindly greeted her, padded her down, touching her in places that NO ONE dared to touch Miranda Priestly. When they declared her clean, they moved her on to a check-in counter. It was here that they took her blackberry, her last connection to the outside world.

At least the rehab had agreed to allow Nigel to send her the final mock-up of the book before it went to print; but it still didn't seem enough and Miranda was sure she would have many, many notes to send back with it.

Once Miranda was checked-in, her life signed away, stripped of all of her outside connecting devices, and agreeing to the rules of rehab, such as no fraternizing with fellow recovering addicts, she was led to an elevator. She realized, then, that she would not be in the elevator alone. Oh no, this young man who was taking her to her room would be joining her. She stared, annoyed, at him as he stepped onto the elevator behind her, dragging one of her suitcases behind him. The rest had already been taken up by her driver.

Since Miranda wanted to be alone, she remained quiet and did not even deign the young man with a quick glance. Instead, she ignored him as if he didn't even exist until the doors opened again on the third floor.

A whole line of similar oak doors with metal handles lined either side of the hallway. Miranda decided that this was what a college dorm looked like. She never thought at her age she would have to live like this, and her distaste in her surroundings was quite visible on her face. The man shifted uneasily under her scrutinizing glare.

"You'll be sharing room 212 with Kym." The man began to explain as they walked, but Miranda quickly cut him off.

"No. No. I will NOT be sharing a room."

"Well, Ms. Priestly, we don't have single rooms. It's part of the process."

"No." Miranda stopped dead in her tracks, as a child would if she were having a temper tantrum. "I DO NOT room with other people. Do you know who I am?" She snapped, moving dangerously into the poor man's space.

He backed away slowly and nodded, looking suddenly rather sheepish. "Ye-yes." He swallowed. "You're Miranda Priestly."

"Exactly." Miranda crossed her arms; certain he would run off and make special arrangements for her.

"But...um...but you still have to share your room." He meekly stated.

Miranda sent him a glare, but he did not waver. Instead he continued to walk and when he reached room 212, he inserted a key and unlocked the door. With both hands he pointed towards the room.

Miranda ground her back teeth together, her eyes narrowing in annoyance and hate. She was not happy.

Reluctantly, she humored the man and entered the room, staring around at the disgustingly small space she would now be sharing with most likely some teenager, judging by the posters and disorganized half of the room. Breezing past the male nurse who was standing awkwardly in the doorway, Miranda made her way to a clean looking chair and set down, her eyes moving to the daylight that was seeping through the half-opened window.

The man shuffled awkwardly in the doorway, not sure what to do. Finally he removed the key from the door, set it on the table beside Miranda and then opened his mouth to explain the itinerary for the rest of the day, but he was quickly interrupted. Miranda's fingers came together, moving rapidly, attempting to shoo him away. "No. Go." She cut him off.

He sighed and instead of trying, he set a piece of paper with a schedule on it next to Miranda and then took his leave.

Miranda was finally alone. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the disgusting, itchy fabric of the chair.

This was hell.

How had she allowed herself to slip this far? Sure after Stephen had left, she might have taken a few more pills than necessary and sure she might have drunk a little bit more, but she couldn't help it. Stephen had left half his alcohol supply in her house and since it was so readily accessible, and she was so damn...not lonely...no...just by herself more often than she liked, she'd taken to drinking. But drinking was fine, people drank every day. There was nothing wrong with her drinking.

And now the girls...oh Cassidy and Caroline. What if they never talked to her again? According to their concerned father, they "...were devastated, Miranda. How could you do this to them?"

His words had been rolling through her head since the previous day when he'd called her in the hospital to chew her out for being 'irresponsible' and a 'bad parent'.

He had no right...no right at all to say such things about her when he wasn't any better.

As Miranda stared out onto the plain, rural landscaping of the rehab, she heard the turning of a lock. Her eyes darted over to the door, not ready to see who was on the other side. She just wanted to be alone for a moment longer. Fuck this place for not letting her have a private room. Miranda Priestly was a private person, who needed her private space.

"Oh," a shocked, short-haired brunette with wide, brown eyes looked directly at Miranda, clearly having not expected her to be there. "Hey, you must be Miranda. I'm Kym." She stepped forward, reaching out her hand. Miranda did not accept. Instead she turned her head away and returned to looking out the window.

The brunette raised her eyebrows. "All right, well. Nice to meet you, too. I can see we're going to get along quite well. I hope you don't mind my mess. They didn't inform me I'd be getting a new roommate until like, oh I don't know, like five minutes before I had to go to a meeting this morning and I've been running around ever since." She exclaimed as she moved around the room, picking up her belongings and attempting to organize them. "Well, I think you'll be a lot better than my last roommate. She was crazy and talked all the time about _nothing_ I was interested in. And it looks like you're not going to talk at all, so I think this might work out even better." She stopped her cleaning and looked up at Miranda with a playful, sarcastic look plastered to her face. But Miranda continued to stare out the window.

Kym sighed and quickly pulled up her sheets, shoving several boxes under her bed. Finally she stopped and set down on her bed, staring directly at Miranda. "So why are you in here? Alcohol? Vicodin? Cocaine? Pain killers?"

"Do you ever shut up?" Miranda quietly hissed, her eyes never straying to study the brunette.

"Oh, you have manners as well." Kym nodded and then caught a glimpse at the clock. "Shit, I have a meeting." Kym scrambled to stand up and grab her bag. On her way out she looked back at the older, silver-haired woman. "Well, make yourself comfortable. I guess I'll see you at dinner. And you can move my stuff if you'd like. I know the bathroom is messy, but I'll clean it tonight. All right, bye. Nice to meet you." And with that Kym left, not waiting for a reply, for she knew she wouldn't get one.

Yes, this was going to be hell.

Kym was as annoying as Miranda had suspected she would be. She realized then that there would never be any privacy, and that she was going to hate the next month of her life.

Glancing over at the schedule the man had thrust at her earlier, she noticed there was a prayer meeting followed by dinner followed by a lecture on Alcoholism. She scoffed and turned away from the itinerary. Normally she would be all about her schedule, following it to a T. But this was not an agenda she wanted, nor was it anything she wanted to do. She did not need a prayer group, or a lecture on alcoholism. She knew enough about both to stay far far away.

And as she moved to cross her arms, she found her hand was shaking.

God, she could go for a drink right about now.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

That evening Kym returned. In her hand she held what looked like a Styrofoam cup of some kind of soup and a brown paper bag.

"You didn't show up to dinner. I was concerned." Kym stated, setting the food down beside Miranda, who had not moved since she'd left.

Miranda stirred in her seat, looking at the food that had just been set down next to her. Whatever it was, it looked awful. Miranda's stomach churned and she felt nauseous, as if she might vomit. With shaking hands, she pushed herself away from the chair and made it gracefully inside the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind her before she unceremoniously collapsed in a heap in front of the toilet, emptying her already very empty stomach into the bowl. She closed her eyes and winced as the bile rose in her throat and then receded. She did not like this at all.

She leaned back against the wall, her body aching to lie down, but she'd be damned if she left the bathroom and allowed her new "roommate" to see her in such a state.

She felt her whole body shaking and she reached for the shower, turning it on to give the room some steam.

It felt like the room was spinning. Miranda closed her eyes and put her head into her unsteady hands.

Why did it hurt so bad?

~*~

When Miranda finally exited the bathroom, much, much later that evening, she found Kym sitting cross-legged on her bed. She had hoped that the girl would be asleep, but she was not. Instead she was writing, adamantly in a journal. Miranda decided that if she didn't look at or acknowledge her, then perhaps she wouldn't talk.

But she guessed wrong.

"I didn't realize the soup here was that bad," The girl snidely remarked.

Miranda just wiped at her eyes and moved to her bag, in search of something to wear to bed.

"So what's your story? You look sort of famous maybe, like I should know who you are." Kym just had to ask questions.

And instead of answering, Miranda went about extracting Calvin Klein pajamas. Next was her Dolce and Gabbana make-up bag that was complete with her toiletries. She had packed as if she'd be spending a month in France, which she would much rather be doing...

"All right, you're not going to talk. Fair enough. So I can just keep talking to you, and tell you all about myself then? Right?"

Miranda turned on the girl. "No, not right. I don't care about you. I have no interest in the details of your mundane, pointless life. I am simply here for a month, and then I will be gone. We will mean nothing to each other now or ever, so it is meaningless to sit here and discuss your life, or my life, because in the end it won't matter." She quipped, her voice dripping with an eerie lightness. And before a shocked Kym could make any sort of come back, Miranda disappeared into the bathroom once again.

~*~

Group therapy session.

Miranda sat as far outside the circle as she possibly could. Her legs were elegantly crossed and she masked the shaking of her hands by folding them across her chest. Her posture suggested her boredom, and her piercing blues eyed everyone briefly before moving to the window.

She listened, or at least pretended to listen, as one man explained how he had began drinking after his wife left him. He spoke of how abusive he would become, how he would hit his wife, his kids...

...and Miranda couldn't help but feel a slight chill spin its way down her spine. She tried not to listen, but his story sounded so very similar to, well, to _her own_.

But when it came time for Miranda to introduce herself she shook her head and refused.

The therapist, Susan, humorously laughed it off and moved on, but once they had said their group prayer, which was more like a chant that Miranda took no part in, Susan approached her.

"Miranda, may I speak to you for a moment?" Susan inquired.

Miranda sighed and sat back down in her seat, watching as everyone else escaped to freedom. What Miranda really wanted to do was return back to her room where she could sit and be alone and not have to discuss any part of her life, nor admit to having any kind of problem.

"You were awfully quiet today." Susan very apparently and annoyingly pointed out the obvious in a way that made Miranda cringe, for it was like having a teacher scolding her as if she were three. Miranda did not find this comment worthy of a response. "Listen, if you want to get better, you're going to have to open up. And I am most certain you don't want me to send you to the head of the center. He isn't very kind," Miranda glared at this woman. This really was like elementary school all over again.

Miranda just nodded. "May I leave now?"

Susan opened her mouth as if she was about to say something else, but then closed it and nodded.

Miranda got up and made her way to the door as fast as she could.

"Just make sure you share next time." Susan called after her.

_Ridiculous_. This whole experience was ridiculous.

Miranda made her way angrily out the front doors of the facility and searched for the path she had been so adamantly focused on the night before when she had sat in the chair all night instead of sleeping. Yes, instead of sleeping - for Miranda never slept - she had stared blankly out the window at a path that wound its way into the woods. She had spent half the time focused on the path and the other half she'd spent studying the girl she was sharing the room with.

She looked oddly familiar. Her features were so youthful. Her deep brown eyes had been concealed behind soft, pale eyelids, her eyelashes long and dark. Her nose was long and slightly pointed at the tip. Her lips were large and luscious looking. Her dark hair with mangy blonde highlights throughout looked amateurish. Her body beneath the blanket looked small, yet round. Her arm, which had appeared out of the sheet at some point during the night had been long and slender, her black fingernails obvious in the moonlight. Moments later a leg had appeared from beneath the uncomfortable looking deep blue sheets. A soft, pale looking leg with what had looked like bright pink toenails had come into view.

Miranda was very good at studying people. It had been like looking at van Eyck's self-portrait; she could make out every imperfection on the girls face, similar, even, to studying the models in her magazine.

But what did she find so captivating and interesting about this dull, annoying girl?

The girl who was standing idly beside a pond that had emerged at the end of the trail Miranda had just been mindlessly traveling on.

Miranda stopped, dead in her tracks, watching as the familiar figure stood with one arm crossed over her chest, and the other dangling down at her side, cigarette in hand. She was standing, staring out over the pond, seemingly watching a bird, or animal on the other side.

Sensing that someone was watching, the brunette turned on her heel and found herself staring at her condescending, older roommate.

Miranda adverted her eyes and mindlessly stepped forward, as if she might just continue on the path as if she hadn't seen her younger roommate, whom she had spent the night studying.

"Can you see that deer over there?" Kym inquired boldly, unfazed by Miranda and the biting remark she might make in return.

Miranda, instead of responding, squinted and glanced across the pond. The smoke from Kym's cigarette infiltrated her senses and she immediately craved one. She hadn't smoked in ages, but she suddenly found herself in desperate need of a cigarette.

As if she could read her mind, Kym turned to Miranda and extended the pack of cigarettes out, "want one?"

Of course she did, but she wasn't going to give in. Not to this young, annoying child. She shook her head and turned, walking away.

She didn't need to replace one bad habit with another.

~*~

But that damn cigarette smell lingered on her and in her room when she returned. Sitting back in her chair, she realized the shake in her hands was getting worse.

In an attempt to not think about a cigarette, she pulled out a notepad and a pencil. Her hand was shaking so hard that she wasn't sure she could write, or draw for that matter, but she put pencil to paper and began to sketch. At first it was a line, but it soon turned into a face. A face surrounded by short, choppy, dark hair. Large eyes followed, along with a pointy nose, and then full luscious lips. And by the time she'd finished, she realized she had just drawn Kym...

As she studied the picture she had enough nerve to rip it to pieces and stomp all over it, but there was something that stopped her from ruining it. Something wasn't quite right about the face, and Miranda wasn't quite sure what it was...

The door clicked open and Miranda quickly shut her notepad, glancing away.

"Hey roomie, what are you doing?" _Still with the questions...honestly_. Miranda sharply exhaled and slid the notepad back into her bag.

But Kym was not put off. Instead she made her way to her bed, dropping several books off and grabbing her own notepad, placing it safely into her bag. "Are you coming to dinner tonight? And then the lecture on cocaine?"

_Cocaine?_

Miranda shook her head, but just as she did so, her stomach growled. She longed for a Smith and Wollensky steak.

"Okay you are coming. I don't care if you hate me even more for the rest of your stay here; you are coming with me and eating." Kym moved WAY too close into Miranda's personal space and extended her hand.

Miranda shook her head and looked away, making a point to stand up of her own accord. Reluctantly she followed the young girl out of the room and down to the dining hall.

It was loud and noisy and Miranda hated it. Having no idea what to do in such a situation, Miranda followed Kym as she made her way through a stall, into a kitchen area. Miranda's stomach churned at the poor food choices they were given. Nothing looked good. Absolutely nothing. Not even the leafy green salad looked edible. Miranda wanted her cook and a good New York restaurant or two instead of this crap.

She watched as Kym picked out a hamburger and some fries.

That was not acceptable.

Kym, noticing that Miranda was not impressed with the food choices, instructed her to go sit.

Miranda frowned, what was this girl up to?

Uncomfortably, Miranda made her way through the cafeteria area. She found a secluded table in the back and perched herself atop one of the stools. She could feel all eyes on her and immediately felt uncomfortable. She knew they recognized her and she knew what they were thinking. She was an addict, she was human, she had a huge fault, she was weak...

And suddenly the familiar brunette emerged out of the scary public carrying a tray of what looked like semi-edible food. She sat it down in front of Miranda and then sat in the seat across from her older roommate. And suddenly Miranda's concerns with the people surrounding her vanished.

"So I found out who you are, today." Kym said, not even looking to see if Miranda liked the steak and mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli and fruit cup she had secured for Miranda - the chef's quite liked her.

Miranda looked up from studying the food before her, tempting Kym to go on and explain who she was.

"You run _Runway_. You're the editor-in-chief. And I hear you're quite a bitch." Kym indulged her.

Miranda had to try her hardest not to smirk. The girl had guts. And she didn't appear to be afraid.

They dined in silence, Miranda slowly processing and swallowing the under par steak for she was hungry enough to not care, but she also didn't want to make it look as if she actually enjoyed the food.

And soon it was time for the nightly lecture and as much as Miranda wanted to vanish back to the room and be by herself, there was something about being with Kym that made her feel...comfortable?

Miranda was confused by these strange emotions welling up inside of her. She was frustrated, yet intrigued. Angry, yet scared.

It was only for 26 more days...

~*~

That evening Kym wrote in her journal as Miranda showered and put on pajamas she would once again not be sleeping in. Kym indulged Miranda and allowed the evening to remain without dialogue.

But as it neared time for Kym to sleep, she stared over at the older, silver-haired woman who was perched, once again, a top her chair, reading the newspaper adamantly.

"Don't you ever sleep?" She dared to ask and Miranda's head appeared as she turned the edge of the newspaper down to give the girl a winning glare.

"No." She quickly responded and then went back to reading.

"You are so strange." Kym mumbled more to herself than to the editor.

Miranda secretly smirked behind her newspaper.


End file.
